Throne's Ritual
by Sketchy Wasteland
Summary: Instead of immediately setting Maxwell free, Wilson decides to visit the Puppet Master every week to give him his companionship. It was a twisted ritual of sorts. AU.


It was a ritual. A sick, twisted ritual that both persons had become accustomed to.

Maxwell, a former glory, sat on a throne of shadows. Thick, dark tendrils pinned his arms and legs against the limbs of the throne, leaving dark welts in his skin from twenty years of wear and tear. The frail man was cold to the touch and thin as a bone and the only thing that kept him alive was the dark magic that coursed through his veins. His eyes were dark, haunted, and never failed to stare at the door until the other man arrived.

The other man, a mad scientist named Wilson, would always enter the place with a straw backpack on his back and a somber look on his face. Sometimes Maxwell would see a beard on the man, sometimes not. The only thing that seemed to remain the same about him was his obsession over science and the three black tufts of hair on his head.

Wilson, upon entering, would glare into the distance when he heard the gramophone playing the same song over and over again. He would approach the sickly man and, when he saw the gramophone, would crush the machine. Maxwell would relish in the quiet as the scientist dropped his bag and sat down, leaning against the throne. His hair would barely skim the top of the Puppet Master's hand for Maxwell was much taller than the other man and required a bigger seat than average.

And they would sit in the silence for several minutes. Wilson, for once not hearing the distant footsteps of danger and Maxwell, not hearing the cursed music. They would sit together just enjoying another human's company.

Then Wilson would talk to the old man. Chat about the mysteries of science, the things that he had discovered, and the things he has yet to discover. And Maxwell would listen, occasionally giving the younger man a faint smile.

Eventually, the ritual had to end for a little while. Wilson, short on food, would have to leave. He would always stand up and snatch his backpack from the floor. He would brush his hand against the Puppet Master's and simply say "I'll be back" before leaving. Then, as always, the shadow hands leapt up from the floor and restored the gramophone.

The ritual went on for six weeks before, all of a sudden, Wilson stopped showing up and after that, Maxwell couldn't spot him on the land. The shadow beings that had imprisoned both men went berserk and almost tore up the whole world searching for the scientist, desperate to find out why they couldn't spot him on their own turf. And, likewise, Maxwell felt distressed. His only friend was gone. Off the map. Perhaps dead. Maxwell sank into his throne, allowing the tendrils to curl around him. He was alone.

Then, Wilson appeared after one whole year with a strange amulet around his neck. It glowed a bright white. A similar amulet was in his left hand. The scientist gave Maxwell a grim smile and approached the throne, strangely ignoring the gramophone. He walked up to the surprised Puppet Master and placed the amulet around his neck. Immediately, the shadows shrieked and the tendrils around the older man's arms tightened to the point of fracturing the man's limbs. Maxwell hissed and struggled against the tighter than usual bonds.

Wilson gave him a sympathetic smile and took out the key to Maxwell's freedom. Maxwell stared at it in confusion as the scientist placed the key into the keyhole in the ground and turned it. With a loud cry, the shadows shrieked and the throne started to unravel like a sweater. Maxwell, with a new found strength, ripped himself free from his binds and was surprised when he didn't die from age, hunger, or dehydration. Instead, the amulet glowed brighter and he started healing. His constant hunger faded, his thirst was parched, and the chill in his bones heated up. He gave Wilson a look.

 _How?_

 _Science._

And, without commenting, they ran out, the shadows trying to grab them, but kept on flinching away from the amulets' light. As they ran, Wilson grabbed onto Maxwell's hand and pulled a machine out of his pocket and pressed a red button on it. In a flash, both men were teleported into Wilson's broken down apartment. Broken glass and machine parts were littered around the place, but both men didn't care. They were safe. Free.

Both men had reverted back into the condition they had been in before entering the twisted world. Wilson, a short 21 year old and Maxwell, a tall 34 year old.

Finally free, they looked at each other and gave each other somber grins.

The ritual was gone forever.


End file.
